Taquisara, almost for the first time in his life,
did not know how to act, but in accepting Veronica’s
invitation he felt that he could really be of use
to Gianluca, and he saw how unbendingly determined
the young princess was that he should stay. He
had very good reasons for not staying, but they were
of such a nature that he could not explain them to
her. He had the power, he thought, to leave Muro
at a moment’s notice, and in yielding to Veronica’s
insistence, he was only submitting, as a gentleman
should, in small matters, rather than engage in a
contest of will with a woman. Yet he knew the
matter was neither small nor indifferent, when he
gave way to her, and afterwards.
Gianluca appeared at the dinner hour and reached the
dining-room with his friend’s help. He
was placed on Veronica’s left, in consideration
of being an invalid, though Taquisara should have
been there, according to Italian laws of precedence.
Veronica had insisted that Don Teodoro should come,
at all events on this first evening. She did not
choose that the learned old priest should be merely
the companion of her loneliness; and besides, she
knew that his presence would probably prevent the
Duca and Duchessa from returning to the question of
her solitary mode of life. She was also willing
to let them see that the humble curate was a man of
the world.
It was a day of surprises for the old couple, and
their manners were hard put to it to conceal their
astonishment at the way in which Veronica dined.
They were, indeed, accustomed to a singular simplicity
in the country, and to country dishes, as almost all
the more old-fashioned Italians are, but in the whole
course of their highly and rigidly aristocratic lives
they had never been waited on by two women in plain
black frocks and white aprons. The Duca, indeed,
found some consolation in the delicious mountain trout,
the tender lamb, the perfect salad, and the fine old
malvoisie, for he liked good things and appreciated
them; but the Duchessa’s nature was more austerely
indifferent to the taste of what she ate, while her
love of established law insisted with equal austerity
that any food, good or bad, should be brought before
her in a certain way, by a certain number of men, arrayed
in coats of a certain cut, and shaven till their faces
shone like marble. In a measure, it was a slight
upon her dignity, she thought, that Veronica should
let her be served by waitresses. On the other
hand, she reflected upon the conversation which had
taken place at tea, and was forced to admit that she
had then discovered the only theory on which she could
accept Veronica’s anomalous position, and conscientiously
remain in the house. Either she must look upon
the castle of Muro and its inhabitants as a sort of
semi-religious community of women, or else, in her
duty to the world, and the station to which she had
always belonged, she must raise her voice in protests,
